A miserable and merry Christmas? How could it be?
A Miserable, Merry Christmas
Christmas was coming. I wanted a pony. To make sure that my parents understood, I declared that I wanted noting else.
Nothing but a pony? my father asked.
Nothing, I said.
Not even a pair of high boots?
That was hard. I did want boots, but I stuck to the pony. No, not even boots.
Nor candy? There ought to be something to fill your stocking with, and Santa Claus cant put a pony into a stocking,
That was true, and he couldnt lead a pony down the chimney either 。 But no. All I want is a pony, I said. If I cant have a pony, give me nothing, nothing.
On Christmas Eve I hung up my stocking along with my sisters.
The next morning my sisters and I woke up at six. Then we raced downstairs to the fireplace. And there they were, the gifts, all sorts of wonderful things, mixed-up piles of presents. Only my stocking was empty; it hung limp; not a thing in it; and under and around it nothing. My sisters had knelt down, each by her pile of gifts; they were crying with delight, till they looked up and saw me standing there looking so miserable. They came over to me and felt my stocking: nothing.
I dont remember whether I cried at that moment, but my sisters did. They ran with me back to my bed, and there we all cried till I became indignant. That helped some. I got up, dressed, and driving my sisters away, I went out alone into the stable, and there, all by myself, I wept. My mother came out to me and she tried to comfort me. But I wanted no comfort. She left me and went on into the house with sharp words for my father.
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